The Visible Spectrum
by alisonburnis
Summary: Early season 4 fic. Cameron and Chase, a few scenes from their lives. Cameron found her paintings when she cleaned out her apartment.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own House in any way, shape or form.

This one-shot is brought to you, courtesy of a long weekend and lots of chocolate. It's spoilery for season 4, and is influenced by art classes/chemistry. It was written a while ago. It's just a bunch of little scenes, influenced by colours.

Enjoy. Feedback is welcomed. I'd love to know what you think.

The Visible Spectrum

_Red_

_She starts the tap, letting the icy water fill the tin can. She leaves the water running, even though she knows she'll have to dump most of the water out. She only needs a little bit, otherwise she'll ruin her brushes._

_She sets up her canvas – it's been stretched and primed and she has the primary sketch done. She places out her paint tray, the blobs of paint still untarnished or mixed together. Her music is playing the background, and she feels the tingly anticipation of starting something new. _

_She hasn't painted in a very long time._

_The water is overflowing the can now, and she twists the tap. She pours out the water, jumping when some of it splashes onto her shirt. The hem of her top sticks to her skin now._

_She grips the top of the can, her finger catching on the sharp edges. She cringes. A drop of blood falls down the side of the can. _

_It's diluted by the water._

_She sits at the table, holding her brush aloft. She swirls the glistening white blob around before making the lightest stroke on the canvas._

- - - -

There's blood everywhere. Too much of it, and it just keeps coming. It seeps through the makeshift bandages given to him by the nurse. Cameron clenches her jaw as she tries to dab away the blood from the gash.

A gash that extends from an elbow to a wrist. The little boy squirms away from her, and she sighs. "I'm sorry," she says. "But I need to you to keep still, even if it hurts. Okay?"

"Okay." He moves back in place, and she continues cleaning.

"How did you fall?" she asks.

"I fell off my bike," he tells her, his green eyes solemn. "I was on the -" he looks back. His mother is glaring at him, boring holes through his heart. Cameron smiles.

"I see," she says. "Well, I think it'll be…" She peers at his arm. Through the haze of blood, she can see a bit of bone peering out. "You're going to need stitches."

He pales, his little face squishing up. He's all of eight years old. And has a worried mother pacing behind him.

Cameron closes her eyes for a moment.

- - - -

Chase meets her after her shift, like he has been since they started back at the hospital a week ago. He nods at her. "Hey," he says. "Rough day?"

Her scrubs are blood spattered. She looks ghostly. "Oh," she says, looking down. She's discovered, there are patients that she will always remember. The little boy with the cut won today's lottery. He squeezed her hand while she was putting him under.

"No, it wasn't….it could always be worse," she replies.

"Yes," he agrees.

A rush of affection fills her, and she hugs him tightly, kissing him, and doesn't let go of his hand. He looks surprised, and she feels like she should tell him that he shouldn't be. But she doesn't. She just smiles, and he echoes it.

_Orange_

_She finished the wash on the painting last night. It's starting to look real to her, not longer a mess, but a piece of art. She steps back and admires her work. It's coming along._

_She fingers her paintbrush, not ready to add to her canvas. She weighs each stroke, each mark she makes on the painting, and this one is no different. She blots the brush on the paper towel beside her, before adding the first true pigment. She outlines a shape, and stops. The shadow looks off. She frowns and studies the photo she's using as a model._

_It takes her two hours to get it right again, but she doesn't care. She likes the control she has over the paint._

_She leans over and turns on the stereo. To paint without music would be blasphemy._

- - - -

"That looks radioactive," she proclaims, sliding into the booth.

"When I asked you to have lunch with me, I didn't mean that you should comment on everything I have," Chase says.

"What is that, anyway?" Cameron asks.

He lifts the Styrofoam cup and drinks out of it. "Some energy drink that they're selling."

"And you bought it because…?"

"It was the only thing left."

"It's bright orange." She crosses her arms. "Why is all your food orange?"

"Because I started eating monochromatically," he deadpans. "The white food fetish was already taken."

"Ha, ha." She picks up his fork, and pokes a blob on his plate. "That is something that should never be mashed."

"Likely." He yawns. "Do you have time to go out for lunch?"

"I think I can swing it," she says.

"I'll pay," he says.

"Good." She leans over and takes the keys lying by his arm. "I'll drive."

_Yellow_

_She's pacing. She's restless. She can't seem to get anything done now…her painting, half-done mocks her from the table. The colours laugh at her. The photo flies to the floor with a sudden rush of air, and like a flash, she's standing in front of the table. Protecting her painting from view. "Hi," she says, too quickly._

"_Hi," Chase replies. He narrows his eyes at her. "What are you doing?"_

"_Not – reading," she blurts._

"_Okay," he says._

_He disappears into the bedroom, and she sighs. _

_There are some things she's not ready to share yet._

- - - -

She lies on the bed, her sneakers creating dirt marks on the sheets. Neither of them have been so great with actually _making_ the bed. Her hair is sprawled and she's wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, a strip of white skin revealed. "He knows," she says.

"Yes," he replies.

She struggles to sit up, leaning awkwardly on her arms. "He _knows_," she repeats. The late evening light forms a halo around her messy hair, lighting up her face. The yellowy-blond stands out in the dimness of the room.

"_I_ know," he says.

"Now what?" she asks.

"I don't know."

She nods, before collapsing back down. "So…"

"So…we wait."

"I guess we do." She rolls off the bed, feet hitting the floor, and makes her way toward him. "You owe me, by the way," she says, sitting on the dresser beside him. "You said House would figure out we were back long before this."

He reaches for his wallet, handing her a hundred dollar bill. She smoothes it out, twisting it over. "Dinner's on me," she says.

"You're funny," he fires after her, as she saunters down the hall.

_Green_

_Selfishly, she is glad when Chase told her he's likely going to be late tonight. She steals home, and she falls into her world of paint. She opens a window, and puts on the music and keeps up the dream-like pace she has. She is happy. She is beyond thinking, she is just…there. It's pleasant._

_She works on one corner of the painting for what seems like hours – in reality, a few minutes. There's so many different shades and tints and colours hidden in each part, and she delights in her reproduction of the photo._

_Her paints are bleeding together on her tray, and her fingers are coated in acrylic, but she likes it._

- - - -

He's sitting on the steps, just watching the street in front of their apartment. She sits beside him, leaning against the cement. "What are you looking at?" she asks, finally.

"Right there," he replies, pointing to the side of the building. "The ivy."

"What about it?"

"It's nice."

"Okay…?"

"Does there always need to be a reason?" he asks.

"No," she says.

Chase gives her a sceptical look. "Right."

"I'm just curious."

"I used to help my mum in the garden," he announces.

Cameron leans her chin on her hand. She doesn't know what to say. It feels too personal for her to make a comment about.

"She grew everything you could imagine," he continues.

"That sounds nice," she murmurs.

"It was."

She sits with him for a while longer, before going in. She still accepts his need to be alone, occasionally.

_Blue_

_She's almost done the painting. She has to touch it up, fix little pieces, finish the shading in the background. She feels a sadness. She doesn't really want to finish – but that's the whole point of this project, to get it done. Isn't that the point of every project?_

_So, one night, she doesn't paint. She plays her music (she's become very attached to this CD) and she fills her water can, and she sets up everything, but she just sits and stares at the painting. She rubs a finger along the ridges of the dried paint._

_She props her head up with a hand. _

_She thinks about going to get some varnish to complete it._

- - - -

"Do you feel like we're being watched?" Chase asks her.

"Being watched? Who's watching us?" she demands.

"House. His employees. Cuddy. Pick someone, they're watching."

"No, they're interrogating," she corrects, pushing her tray down the line. "They want to know how we can help them get those jobs."

Chase reaches for a bottle of water. "How about run the other way, as fast as you can?"

"It wasn't that bad," she chides.

"No," he concedes, "it wasn't."

She digs out some money, thrusting the bill at the cashier. "Are you saying that you get the feeling that House is waiting to make us miserable? He's watching for the right time?"

"That sounds about right," he replies.

"When you start seeing him everywhere, let me know," she says.

"I'll file for a restraining order," he agrees.

"Good."

She looks over her shoulder as they go to sit down. Now that Chase has mentioned it, she does feel like she's being watched. She looks for a cane, those blue eyes, but she sees nothing. "Why are we being watched by House?"

Chase shrugs. "Because he can?"

_Indigo_

_She bites her lip as she dips her smallest brush in the dark paint. A signature that stands out too much can ruin a painting, she knows, and she's sure she mixed the exact colour…but still…she holds her breath. _

A. Cameron. _She finishes her messy scrawl, and admires it. Perfect. Visible, but not eye-catching. She stirs the brush around in the grey water, and wipes it off._

_It's done. She sits back, and her CD stops. It's really done. Unmistakable sadness settles over her body. _

_Two months, and six litres of water later, she's finally finished. She pries open the can varnish, and looks at the milky mixture. _

_This would seal the end._

- - - -

He wakes up in the middle of the night, to find Cameron gone. He sighs. It's reminiscent of old days. He was sure they were beyond those now – especially now – but it would seem he was wrong.

He lies back down in bed, and rolls over. He'd rather not face her empty spot.

But the footsteps on the wooden floor rouse him, and he reluctantly turns to face the door. Cameron is there, her eyes bright. "Hey," she whispers.

"Hey," he replies. "What time is it?"

"Early." She waves her hand. "Come on."

"What?" he demands.

"Move it." She kicks his leg lightly, before glaring at him.

"You're like a four year old," he mumbles, struggling to get up.

"And you're like Oscar the Grouch," she teases. "Coffee's in the kitchen."

"Fine." He pulls himself upright, and stands. The first step.

He finds her in the kitchen, tapping her feet and humming. He stares. "It's two o'clock," he says.

She pushes a cup toward him. "Yes, it is."

"And you -"

"Stop talking," she commands. "Come on."

She pulls him out to the front step, and sits him down. "Look."

He's never thought of Cameron as a great appreciator of aesthetics in nature, but she tilts her head to the sky and smiles. "My sister would love this," she says. "She's a photographer."

The streaky purple clouds mess with the constancy of the dark sky, but he watches it anyway. "This is what you woke me up for?"

"Sorry," she says.

"No, it's alright."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," Chase replies. He leans back, brushing her arm. "Yeah, I think so."

_Purple_

_She puts one last brush of varnish on the painting. The window is open, and she shivers, because it's not as warm as it was. She smiles wistfully. Fall. Leaves. Hallowe'en. Frost._

_She closes up the can of varnish. She's done with the painting. _

_She has hit the point she never wanted to reach. But it isn't so bad, after all. She likes the satisfaction of looking at the finished product. _

"_What's that?" Chase asks her. He stands in the doorway of the kitchen, and she jumps. He walks over to her. "I found it a few weeks ago," he admits. "So you're done?"_

"_I think so." She gives it a loving look. "Do you like it?"_

_He stares at the painting. "It's incredible," he says._

"_Thanks." She presses her lips together. "I started it…I found some old pieces when I packed up my things. And I thought…why not?"_

_He nods._

- - - -

They've been living at that apartment for nearly three months. Barely anything is unpacked, furniture is haphazard, boxes litter the rooms. They're always working. It looks unlived in.

Cameron unlocks the door, fumbling with some bags. She dumps them on the table, and heads for the bedroom. Chase follows, his steps echoing more than hers.

She stops at the doorway, though. In the place where they've lived, where there is no personal touch yet, there is something hanging on the wall. A painting. It's simple, with a collection of violets, tied with a ribbon, sitting on a table. She gasps. "Did you…?"

"We needed something," he explains.

"Thank you," she says. "It looks perfect."

"It _is_ perfect," he corrects.

She kisses him, her hands circling around his waist. "Thank you."

He smiles.

- - - -

_He finds her painting again, late into the night. This time, she lets him see._


End file.
